


Kingdom of the Worm

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Torture, Family, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU tag to Season 10, Episode 17 "Inside Man". Crowley never has the heart-to-heart with Dean so he believes Rowena's claim that the eldest Winchester attacked her. Crowley, spurred on by his mother, knows that he cannot let this outrage go unpunished but with the Mark of Cain, Dean is untouchable. However, the King of Hell knows exactly how to get revenge on the hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom of the Worm

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title comes from a Motorhead song.

Rowena's words chased themselves around inside Crowley's head.

"Demons gossip… you'll look weak… doubt… mocking… revolt…"

He could lose his throne. He could lose everything he'd worked so hard to gain.

But he couldn't kill Dean Winchester. Not when the hunter had that bloody Mark of Cain protecting him.

Crowley thought about the state his mother had been in when he'd seen her. Yes, she might be an enormous twat but somewhere, deep down in his black heart, he felt the stirrings of anger. Dean Winchester thought he could get away with injuring Crowley's mother, his flesh and blood. The hunter was living with a false sense of security.

No, the King of Hell may not be able to kill Dean Winchester, but that didn't mean he couldn't still seek revenge.

The hunter had thought that by attacking Rowena he would strike at Crowley's heart, and although the demon may not have any love for his mother, he knew exactly where to hit to do the most damage to Dean Winchester.

Smiling to himself, Crowley decided that he could kill two birds with one stone; show his court that he was still strong, a force to be reckoned with and make Dean pay for what he'd done to Rowena.

SPN

Sam gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. The fact that Metatron had been stringing them along this whole time made his blood boil. Though, Sam had to admit he probably should have seen it coming; angels hadn't exactly been trustworthy in the past.

Guess it's back to drawing board, Sam thought resolutely.

Despite the fact that Metatron, in fact, knew nothing about the Mark of Cain, Sam wasn't going to give up. He knew that the cure had to be out there somewhere and if he just searched long enough, dug deep enough; he would find it and fix his brother.

Trying not to dwell on this most recent setback, Sam turned on the radio and smiled a bit when "Never Surrender" by Corey Hart came on.

W

Sam watched the numbers roll upwards as he pumped gas into the car with disinterest.

All he wanted to do was get back to the bunker and start in on research again. Checking the time on his cell phone, Sam saw that he should be back in Lebanon in about an hour or so.

Sighing, Sam replaced the gas nozzle and headed into that station to pay.

As he fished out money for the gas, he asked the elderly attendant to borrow the key to the restroom.

"Thanks," Sam muttered as the man arthritically handed him the key and he headed back outside and made his way to the side of the building where the bathrooms were.

Unlocking the door and pulling it open, Sam was hit by a wave of pine-scented clearer that couldn't quite cover up the smell of a neglected bathroom.

Stepping inside quickly, Sam glanced at the damp and cracked tile flooring, the walls covered in graffiti, the rust-stained sinks and urinals, the spotty mirrors.

The hunter headed towards the row of sinks and turned on the tap of one in the middle, sending icy water jetting into the yellow bowl.

Cupping his hands beneath the cold stream, Sam splashed the chilly water onto his face, raking his bangs back from his brow with his fingers.

Peering up at the dark, spotty mirror, Sam startled at the sight of two men standing on either side of him. He hadn't heard them enter the restroom.

Sam's heart skipped a beat- as it always did at the sight that now greeted him, though he had seen it many, many times- as the men's eyes turned black as pitch and they smiled.

Turning quickly, Sam curled his hands into fists and managed to strike the first demon in the chin, startling him. The second demon, however, took advantage of Sam's distraction and grabbed a handful of the hunter's hair and slammed the back of his head down on the edge of the sink.

White light and pain exploded in Sam's mind before everything went dark.

SPN

Dean opened his eyes and sat up in bed. Stretching his arms above his head, he felt oddly refreshed.

Ever since he'd killed Cain he'd been having nightmares, about the people he'd hurt when he'd been a demon… about killing Sam, as Cain had prophesied. Dean hadn't told Sam about the nightmares and he was fairly certain his brother didn't know about them. And that wasn't going to change anytime soon.

But this morning, Dean didn't recall having any bad dreams.

Standing up, Dean moved to his dresser and pulled on some clean clothes.

Once ready for the day, he made his way down the hall towards his brother's room.

Stopping in front of the door, Dean knocked on it, "You going to sleep all day, Princess?"

There was no response from within; no grumbled swearing, no pillow hitting the other side of the door in irritation.

Dean shrugged and opened the door to find Sam's room empty, bed made neatly.

Maybe he's fallen asleep at the table again, Dean thought. A few times he'd found Sam slumped over one of the large wooden tables in the main room, a book as a pillow because he'd decided to read instead of sleep.

Leaving the door ajar, Dean walked down the hallway and peered into the main room to see that it too, was empty.

"Sam?" Dean called automatically.

There was no response.

Frowning, Dean climbed down the short flight of stairs into the main room but Sam did not appear.

Had Sam come home at all last night?

Trying not to worry- Sam was an adult after all- Dean made a beeline for the kitchen and began to prepare a pot of coffee, pulling down a box of Cap'n Crunch cereal for breakfast.

Out of habit, Dean pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans and checked to see if Sam had left any messages for him.

Nothing.

Oh well, Dean leaned against the counter as he waited for his coffee, bowl of cereal in his hands, Sam will probably show up this morning apologizing because he'd been distracted by some other stupid cultural thing happening in Wichita.

W

Dean, his stomach full of cereal, returned to the kitchen to set his dirty dishes in the sink- Sam will wash them later- and pour himself another cup of coffee.

Just as he is picking up the coffee pot, Dean's cell phone vibrates and trills out the all-too-familiar chords to 'Smoke on the Water'.

Smiling, Dean sets the pot down and fishes his phone out, knowing it's Sam telling him he's on his way, that he ended up staying over because the movie theater was showing a German film about a fish with laser vision or something.

Glancing down at the Caller ID, Dean's smile turns to a frown. It is not Sam calling him, but Crowley.

What the hell do you want? Dean thought and almost ignored the call.

Answer it, a voice in Dean's head whispered, a curious voice and the hunter listened to it.

Pushing the 'Talk' button, Dean raised the phone to his ear, ready to chew Crowley out for calling him and instead the words that he was ready to speak with such acidity died in his throat at the sounds that greeted him from the other end of the phone.

Crowley wasn't speaking.

No one was in fact speaking.

But someone was definitely on the other end.

Screaming.

Dean's heart stopped beating as his blood froze in his veins at the sound of the horrible sound invading his ears.

It was Sam.

Sam was the one screaming.

Suddenly Dean's heart lurched into a rhythm again, a rapid one, and the blood that had previously been sluggish with ice, now felt as though it was boiling through his body.

"SAM!" Dean yelled, gripping his phone tightly in his fist, "SAMMY!"

He had no idea if his brother could hear him but the pained cries continued.

"SA-"

"Dean," Crowley's smug voice interrupted.

"What are you doing?" the hunter growled, "Where are you? What are you doing to Sam?"

"Haven't ever heard of an eye for an eye?" the King of Hell asked sarcastically, "You hurt my family so I'm hurting yours."

Dean's frown grew; what was Crowley talking about… oh.

Rowena.

"I don't know what the fuck that bitch told you but I didn't touch her!" Dean shouted into the phone.

"That's not what she says," Crowley retorted, "You brutalized my mother. I've left you alone, haven't I? Even told my demons you and your brother were off limits and this is how your repay me?"

In the background Dean could still hear his brother, the cries dying down and Sam sounded like he was choking.

"I-" Dean didn't know what to say to convince Crowley.

Beep…beep…beep…beep…

Dean held the phone tight against his ear for a long moment, listening to the dial tone.

Crowley had ended the call.

Dean's throat tightened to what seemed like a pinhole and one word squeezed out, wheezy and painful.

"Sammy."

Dean closed his eyes, the sounds of his brother crying in pain echoing in his head.

I never should have let Sam go to that goddamn movie alone. I should have agreed to go to Wichita with him, to make sure he got back here safe.

Opening his eyes, Dean looked at his cell phone and punched in a familiar number.

Since he didn't know where Crowley was, he needed help to find the son of a bitch and Dean knew that Cas would be more than willing to get Sam back in one piece.

Dean listened as the angel's cell phone rang and rang and rang before going to voice mail.

"Cas! I need you. Right now! Crowley's got Sam and I don't know where and I need you to help me find him. Don't even bother calling back, just get your ass here now!"

Dean ended the call and raked a hand through his short-cropped hair, his breakfast sitting sourly in his stomach.

SPN

Crowley smiled down at Sam, the hunter peering dazedly back at him through his one good eye; the other was swollen shut, a gash across the lid dripping blood down his cheek.

"Now Moose, I need you to do me a favour," he told the abused hunter in a friendly tone, "Just a small one."

Sam's good eye narrowed and he spat, blood and saliva landing on Crowley's finely tailored suit.

"Fuck you," the human growled and the demon gave a long-suffering sigh.

Crowley's smile widened, "I'm going to call Squirrel, let him know you're in my exceptional company, and all you have to do is scream so he knows you're still alive."

Sam's face hardened with defiance, "I won't."

"I think you will, Moose," Crowley commented in a superior tone and pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Dean Winchester's number.

As the phone rang, Crowley scanned the abandoned warehouse where Sam had been brought, meeting Rowena's gaze and giving her a nod before turning his attention back to the captured hunter.

"Shouldn't be long now," Crowley told him, "Now, get ready, this is going to hurt."

The demon king flicked out his hand at Sam.

The young man's eyes bulged in his head and he howled in pain, clutching his left hand.

Crowley repeated the action and Sam's cry of pain echoed off the walls of the old warehouse.

With the phone pressed to his ear, the King of Hell could hear Dean shouting his brother's name.

SPN

Dean dialed the angel's number again, gritting his teeth with frustration and worry.

"Cas, where the hell are you? Crowley has Sam! I need your help! Now!"

The hunter lowered his cell phone and wiped a calloused hand down his face.

He didn't know what to do, he didn't know who else he could turn to for help.

"C'mon Cas," Dean muttered, "Sammy's in trouble and I need you here."

SPN

Sam stared up at Crowley and the young woman standing beside him.

"Moose," Crowley intoned, "Meet Agatha."

Sam forced his one good eye to focus on the young woman- girl, really; she didn't look a day over sixteen- and shuddered at her hungry stare.

"As much as I've enjoyed spending quality time with you," Crowley began, speaking as though he was truly disappointed he was handing the reins over to someone else, "I'm not as talented as she is, and I'll be the first to admit it. Agatha's a real artist with a knife."

Sam's blood ran cold and he could practically feel his face lose its colour.

"Of course," Crowley smirked, "That's because she learned from the best."

Sam had a horrible feeling he knew exactly who 'the best' was and he shook his head, letting out a whimper of fear.

Ignoring the hunter, Crowley turned to the female demon.

"Be gentle," he instructed, "I want him alive when you're finished."

Agatha smiled and nodded, "Of course, Your Highness."

From behind her back she pulled out a long, thin curved blade and approached the hunter, grinning wolfishly.

SPN

Dean had lost count of how many voice messages he'd left on Castiel's answering machine but it was clear that the angel was not going to get back to him anytime soon.

The hunter hadn't left the bunker's large main room since receiving that heart-wrenching call from Crowley and the day was growing later and later.

Dean tried to remain calm, telling himself that Cas would appear any minute now and help him find his brother, all the while attempting to stave off his imagination and the horrible tortures it was conjuring up for Sam.

"If he dies, Crowley, so help me God I will drag you off your precious throne myself and stab you in your black heart," Dean snarled, punching one of the long, pinewood tables in frustration.

W

At ten minutes past four in the evening, Dean's cell phone trilled, announcing the arrival of a text message.

Dean snatched the device from where it had been sitting on the table and saw that the text was from none other than Crowley, no words, just a series of numbers the hunter recognized as coordinates that would be seen on a map.

Heart leaping into his throat, Dean entered the numbers into his phone's GPS and saw that Sam was in Concordia, only an hour away.

Making sure he had the keys to the Impala, Dean ran up the bunker's stairs and outside, his heart jackhammering with both fear and anticipation.

"I'm coming, Sammy," Dean muttered as he climbed into his beloved car and pulled out of the gravel driveway, "Don't worry, I'm coming to get you."

W

Dean slowed the Impala and peered for the nth time at his cell phone, checking the GPS to make sure he hadn't made a mistake.

He hadn't. The map indicated he was sitting right on top of the coordinates Crowley had given him.

But Dean didn't understand. On one side of the road was a dark, old growth forest and on the other a farmers field of corn, a deep drainage ditch running parallel to the road.

The hunter briefly entertained the idea that the demon king was just fucking with him and Sam was still in his clutches or miles away, but his gut told him that Crowley would want him to see his brother, in whatever state he was in, just to seal the deal.

The road was quiet at this time of day so Dean felt confident he could pull over to the shoulder and get out without getting run over.

Leaving the keys in the ignition, Dean exited the Impala and stepped out onto the road.

The only sounds were the chirruping of birds from the woods and the distant drone of farm equipment.

"Sam!" Dean called, terrified of not receiving a response but certain he wouldn't.

The hunter peered into the shadowy forest, trying to remember what Sam had been wearing the night before when he'd left to see that movie in Wichita.

Turning away from the trees, Dean felt suddenly suspicious of the ditch on the opposite side of the road. It was deep and the bottom was not easily seen from above, by, say someone driving down the road.

Approaching the divide between the asphalt and the field, Dean's palms grew slick with sweat and his heart began to pound in his chest.

Peering into the ditch he easily caught sight of his brother lying crumpled at the bottom, bloodied and broken.

"S-Sammy," Dean choked out and jumped down beside his brother.

For a horrible moment the hunter was certain his sibling was dead. Beneath the blood, Sam's face was ghostly pale, his chest not moving.

Dropping down onto hands and knees, Dean lowered his face to his brother's, praying that he would feel a warm puff or air escaping his sibling's lungs.

After a moment, he did. Dean sat back, tears pricking his eyes as he assessed the damage.

Sam's face was battered- Dean could see dark bruises beneath the blood- his nose broken, right eye swollen shut with a nasty gash across it, another cut across the left eyebrow.

Gaze traveling downwards, Dean saw bruises on Sam's throat similar to the ones he received whenever some baddie thought they could strangle him to death.

Dean vaguely noticed that his brother's shirt was missing before catching sight of the bright red gashes crisscrossed Sam's shoulders, abdomen and belly, almost all the way down to his groin. There was also more bruising there too.

Sam's left hand was swollen to about the size of a baseball, the fingers crooked and discoloured, clearly broken.

"Oh Sammy," Dean whispered and gently lifted his brother's head, feeling a large lump near the base of his skull, rough with dried blood.

The older Winchester knew he had to get his brother to the Impala, there was no way around it, but he was terrified of hurting his sibling even more.

If Sam had fractured ribs or internal bleeding…

Carefully, fingers gentle, Dean palpated his brother's abdomen, feeling for shifting bone or rigidness to internal organs that should not be there with the skill of any doctor.

Sitting back with a sigh of relief, Dean didn't find any indication of his worst fears. Now, came the difficult part, getting his brother into the Impala.

Deciding that if he had no other choice than to haul Sam up manually out of the ditch, at least he could shorten the distance between his brother and the car.

"I'll be right back, Sammy," Dean murmured reassuringly to his sibling, "Don't worry."

He knew that Sam couldn't likely hear him but it comforted Dean to talk to his brother anyway.

Easily climbing out of the ditch, the elder Winchester hurried across the road to the classic Chevy. Slipping into the driver's seat, Dean pulled a very tight U-turn and parked as close to the edge of the ditch as he dared. This time not bothering to shut off the engine, he exited the vehicle and returned to his brother's side.

Hunkering down at Sam's head, Dean took a breath and hooked his hands beneath his unconscious sibling's armpits, lifting the younger man's torso off the ground.

With some careful maneuvering, Dean positioned himself so that he could walk backwards while holding onto his brother, right to the waiting Impala.

Sam made no complaint whatsoever as Dean manhandled him up the ditch and reclined him as carefully as possible onto his back on the Chevy's leather rear passenger seats.

Before closing the door, Dean went to the trunk and grabbed the blanket he found there, returning to his brother and draping the warm blanket over him, tucking in the corners.

Shutting the door, Dean made his way to the driver's side and sat down, angling the mirror so that he would have a good view of his brother's prone form in the backseat as he drove.

For a moment Dean considered driving into Concordia and taking Sam to the nearest hospital, but only for a moment. His brother hated hospitals- Dean was secretly certain Sam was frightened of them- and he assured himself that his sibling's injuries were ones he could take care of on his own, at least until Castiel returned from wherever he was and fixed Sam proper.

W

The drive back to the bunker was silent. Dean didn't even bother turn on the radio in case Sam began to wake up and he didn't hear it because he'd chosen to listen to the music too loudly.

Every few seconds or so, Dean's eyes flicked back to his brother lying silent and still on the backseat and was terrified that Sam would not move again.

As Dean watched, the blanket he had draped over Sam slowly became red with blood and the older brother pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal, certain that his sibling was going to bleed out before they made it home.

W

Dean's throat tightened with emotion as he pulled into the bunker's driveway.

"We're here, Sammy," he murmured and peered at his brother in the backseat.

Positioning the Impala as close to the door as he could, Dean repeated the process of lifting his brother under the armpits and half-carrying, half-dragging him into the bunker. He cringed as Sam's feet bounced on the steps on the way down but decided that that was the least of his brother's problems.

He momentarily wondered if he shouldn't just get Sam up on one of the tables and work on him there but quickly tossed the idea. Sam should wake up in his room.

W

Dean was gasping for air by the time he deposited his brother on his bed. Even though Dean was not out of shape by any means, having to lug his tall, unconscious sibling through the bunker's main room and then down the hallway, was more exhausting than he'd anticipated.

Once Sam was lying on his bed, Dean hurried to the bathroom to gather towels, a large bowl and the First Aid kit. Finding all he needed, Dean ran warm water into the large bowl that had found a permanent home in the bathroom because it was big enough to soak face clothes or towels in to be used when Sam was sick or injured.

Returning, he found himself slightly disappointed that Sam still had not woken up yet.

Calm down, Dean chastised himself, Sam's been Crowley's punching bag, and he's not going to wake up just because you want him to.

Besides, Dean thought, it was probably better that Sam would be unconscious when he started stitching up the gashes and re-setting the bones in his broken hand.

Grabbing Sam's desk chair, Dean took a seat beside his sibling and wetted the first towel. Leaning forward, Dean began to gently clean the blood and sweat from his brother's face.

As the dried blood was washed away, Dean felt his eyes prick with tears at the mosaic of blue and purple bruises covering his brother's face. Besides the injuries he had seen in the ditch, Sam's lower lip had split open and was puffy from receiving a blow.

With a dry towel, Dean patted Sam's face before digging through the First Aid kit to find some antibiotic salve and smearing it on the gash bisecting his brother's eyebrow, holding the cut together with a butterfly bandage and dabbing some onto the laceration on his eyelid.

Next, Dean carefully cleaned the blood from Sam's neck, trying not to press to hard on the bruises.

It took longer to clean Sam's chest and abdomen, mostly because the warm water and gently scrubbing motions of the towel caused the cuts to weep again. They were deep but Dean didn't think that they had caused serious injury, they were meant to cause pain, not death.

Taking out a needle and suture, Dean set about the grim task of stitching the gashes closed. Working grimly, he allowed his mind wander, confident that his hands knew from much practice, exactly what to do.

He should never have let Sam go to that stupid French movie alone. He should have known Rowena would do something sneaky. God, he hated witches!

And Crowley… if he ever got his hands on that smug bastard he'd-

Dean glanced down and his expression softened.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he apologized, "If I'd known what Crowley was going to do, I'd have been there to protect you."

Feeling tears well up in his eyes, Dean had to stop what he was doing and sit back for a moment to gain his composure.

Taking a deep breath and telling him he could have a chick-flick moment when Sam actually woke up, Dean returned to the task he had started.

Once all the lacerations were stitched up, the older Winchester carefully slathered them with salve and covered them with gauze.

Now all that was left was fixing Sam's hand. Dean cringed just looking at the poor appendage.

"You can show up anytime now Cas," Dean said in an irritated voice.

The angel, of course, did not appear and Dean swore, cursing the Winchester luck and set about to try and decide the best course of action to take with his brother's broken hand.

The older brother gently prodded his sibling's swollen hand, biting his lip as he felt for broken bones.

Ah, there, they were shifting ever so slightly beneath his touch.

Peering up at Sam's face, Dean decided that he really didn't want to try to repair his brother's broken hand- that he'd really rather wait for Cas to come back and fix it right- so he took padding and a tensor bandage from the First Aid kit and wrapped the appendage in it, deciding that if the angel didn't make and appearance soon, he could take Sam to the hospital and get a doctor to put it in a cast.

Finally, Dean lifted his brother's head and washed away the dried blood from the back of his head and neck, deciding that the injury didn't need stitches or gauze.

Making sure Sam was comfortable, pulling the blanket up to his brother's neck, Dean sat back, exhausted from hours of worrying for his sibling and the physical exertion of bringing him back safely to the bunker.

W

Dean waited with the patience of a saint for his brother to wake up. Looking at his phone, he checked the time and saw that almost five hours had passed since he'd gotten Crowley's text message.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he had only had a bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal to eat that day and Dean stood, ready to grab something from the kitchen and hurry back to Sam's side when his brother gave a groan so quiet that he almost missed it.

"Sam?" Dean spoke his brother's name and sat down on the edge of the bed, "Sammy?"

Dean watched as the eyelid of Sam's uninjured eye fluttered slightly.

Unable to fight the smile on his face, Dean took hold of his brother's right hand and squeezed.

"It's okay, Sammy," he assured his sibling, "You're okay. I'm right here."

"N'uuuhh," Sam croaked and his good eye opened.

Dean gripped his brother's hand tightly, "Hey, Sammy."

"D'n," Sam rasped, the word now more clearly pronounced as his brother's name.

"It's just me," Dean reassured him.

Sam closed his eye for a moment and Dean thought he had slipped back into unconsciousness but then it opened again, more focused this time and landed on the older Winchester's face.

"S'rry."

Dean frowned, "Ah, no, Sammy, no. Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything."

Sam's eye filled with tears though and Dean suddenly was frightened.

"Sam," he said, his voice stern but not harsh, "You didn't do anything wrong. It was me, okay? I pissed Crowley off."

Sam, the tears in his eye overflowing and dripping down his cheek, nodded.

Reaching over, Dean wiped his brother's face with his sleeve.

"It's going to be okay," Dean murmured to his brother, "Everything's going to be okay."


End file.
